Giving Up
by RosieAnnieUSA
Summary: Sometimes you have to lose it all to gain a future. Originally written for a challenge, and expanded.
1. Chapter 1

Heyes pushed the creaking door open. In the dim moonlight from the window, he could just barely see an oil lamp. Curry waited quietly in the hall while Heyes struck a match to the wick, and a feeble light illuminated the shabby hotel room. Curry squeezed past Heyes, dropping his saddlebags onto the floor. He sat on the nearest bed, gingerly testing the mattress. Satisfied, he lay down across the bed, with his feet on the floor.

Heyes adjusted the lamp to burn brighter. In the dresser mirror, he saw Curry collapse onto the bed. Heyes put his own saddlebags on the dresser and took off his hat, carefully hanging it on a peg.

"You planning to sleep that way?" Heyes asked.

"What way?" Curry answered, eyes closed.

"With your coat and hat on. Wearing that hogleg."

"Maybe."

There was a pitcher and bowl on the dresser. Heyes lifted the pitcher carefully and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was full. He poured water into the bowl and splashed some on his face. Running wet fingers through his dirty hair, he looked at himself in the mirror and saw a three-day stubble of dark beard, deep circles under the eyes, and pale skin. His eyes shifted to Curry's reflection. Curry looked worse than he did. Heyes took a towel from the rack and, wiping his face, went to stand next to his friend.

"How're you doing, Kid?"

"Wonderful." Heyes put the towel on the nightstand, got down on one knee, and pulled Curry's boots off. Curry neither resisted nor helped.

"Good to hear, Kid. I was afraid that little tumble you took might've bruised you up some."

"I've had better days."

Heyes got up. His knees creaked and hurt.

"Why don't you take off your coat and hat and stay for a while?" Curry slowly sat up, grunting. Giving his hat to Heyes, he unbuttoned his sheepskin jacket, and Heyes helped him shrug out of it. Heyes knew better than to help with Curry's gunbelt; he waited, holding Curry's coat and hat, while Curry unbuckled the gunbelt and hung it on the brass headboard, within easy reach.

Curry sat slumped on the edge of the bed, head hanging, elbows on knees and hands clasped, while Heyes hung his coat and hat in the wardrobe. The clothes put away, Heyes went back to check on his exhausted partner.

"You hungry?"

"No," Curry said. He looked up at Heyes' concerned face and forced a small smile. "Don't look like that, Heyes. I reckon I'm more tired than hungry."

"How about I go down to the dining room and bring us back a couple sandwiches? That sound good?"

Curry tried to get up, but Heyes pushed him back down with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You need me to watch your back, Heyes. There's no telling if any of that posse trailed us here."

"Not a chance, Kid. They're halfway to Mexico by now. Besides, it ain't likely I'll see anyone who knows me, especially since the restaurant's just about to close."

Kid looked at Heyes' drawn face. Heyes looked as bad as he felt. He looked at the pillow. He looked again at Heyes.

"You just rest for a bit, Kid. I'll be back in no time."

Kid looked at the pillow again. He felt like it was calling his name.

"Okay, Heyes. Just stay out of trouble."

"I'll be meek as a church mouse. Promise." He released Curry's shoulder, and Curry lay on his side and closed his eyes.

Heyes was almost out of the room when Curry spoke up.

"Heyes."

"Yeah?"

"No onions on mine."

Despite his worry, Heyes smiled at his partner. "Got it."

No customers were in the dining room when Heyes arrived. He glanced at a large wall clock – it was 9:02, and the restaurant closed at nine. A short balding waiter was picking up salt shakers from the tables. Heyes cleared his throat. The man turned around, frowning.

"Dining room's closed, mister."

Heyes pointed to the clock. "Only for two minutes. Can't I get something to take back to my room?"

The little man straightened up, surprised. "You're a guest here?" This skinny cowboy dressed in raggedy clothes didn't look like he had ten cents to his name.

"Yes, sir, me and my partner just checked in. We sure could use some food."

"Well. . . " the waiter hesitated, torn between his desire to go home and the boss's orders to take good care of guests. "If the dining room supervisor says it's alright. Kitchen's supposed to be closed."

"That'd be real kind of you. Anything you got would be fine, as long as it's got no onions. " Frowning again, the man went into the kitchen. Heyes waited, looking around at the comfortable dining room chairs, all arranged neatly around the tables. If he sat down, he might fall asleep right then and there. Better to stand, even though he felt so unsteady.

The wall clock ticked loudly. Five minutes passed. Heyes was trying to decide if he should go looking for the waiter when he heard clicking footsteps behind the kitchen door. He put on his best smile, but it faded as soon as the door opened. She was the last person he expected to see. She must have been as surprised as he was, because she stopped in mid-step and almost dropped the tray she carried.

"Hello, Louise. Fancy meeting you here." He pointed at the tray. "Is that for me?"

She looked quickly around the room. They were alone.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered loudly.

"I'm here for dinner."

"That's not what I meant! Why are you in Yuma? Did you come here looking for me?"

He ran one hand through his long hair. "No, Louise. Why we're here is a long story, but we're not here to find you. Seeing you is just a happy coincidence."

She almost threw the tray at him. "Here's some cold chicken with slaw and bread. Take it and go."

"Don't you want to know what room to bill it to?"

"No," she hissed. "Just go."

"Why Miss Carson," he said. "What kind of greeting is this? Especially after all we've been through."

She opened her mouth, ready to kick him out, when, all of a sudden, her anger evaporated. He was smiling, trying to work his charm on her. The deep dimples she remembered were still there, but his big brown eyes were dull. He'd been slender but now, he was too thin. The threadbare clothes hung loosely. He didn't smell too good, either. The last two years must have been hard on him.

"Are you alright, Mr. Smith?" The change in her tone caught him off-guard.

"I will be, once I get to eat. Thanks for this."

"Is your friend with you?"

"He's upstairs. He's resting."

"I see." They looked at each other without speaking. After a long moment, Heyes turned away.

"I ought to get back. Thaddeus gets cranky when he's hungry."

"You'd better go then. Unless you need something else right now?"

"No, Louise. Thank you. I guess you're the supervisor here?"

"Yes, I am. Almost since I arrived in Yuma."

"Yeah, well. . . that's good, Louise, real good. I guess I'll be seeing you again, since we're staying here."

"Yes, you probably will. And I'm sorry I was so sharp with you earlier. When I saw you, I thought. . . well, I thought you were here about what happened in Touchstone, with. . . with everything."

"Not at all, Miss Carson. That's all forgotten. Good night."

"Good night." Louise moved to hold the door open for Heyes, who was balancing the heavy tray. He smiled his thanks. Halfway up the stairs, he paused and looked back. She was standing at the door, watching him.

Heyes kicked the door of his hotel room. "Hey Thaddeus, can you open up? My hands are full." There was no answer. Frowning, Heyes put the tray on the floor and opened the door cautiously. Curry was laying on his side, snoring loudly. Heyes picked the tray up and put it on the dresser, closing the door behind him and locking it. Curry opened one eye and looked at his partner blearily.

"Everything okay?"

"Sure thing, Kid. You want to eat? Got some chicken, courtesy of the lovely Louise Carson."

Something about the name woke Curry up a little. "Who?"

"Louise Carson, remember her? From Touchstone, Arizona? She's the waitress who was fooling around with that Ken Blake, who murdered Jenny's boy Billy and blamed us for robbing own bank?"

"Oh." Ancient history wasn't interesting to Curry at that moment.

"She recognized me, too."

Curry's head snapped up. "She recognized you? Any problem?"

Heyes cursed his big mouth. He should have known better than to mention Louise now. Anybody who recognized either one of them was a potential threat, and Curry, even bruised and tired as he was, would react strongly.

"No, no," Heyes reassured his friend. "She asked how you were, and she gave me food. No problem at all."

"Oh." Curry punched his pillow and settled down again. "That's alright then."

"You want some of this chicken, Kid?"

"Maybe later," Curry mumbled into the pillow.

Heyes sat in the armchair. He was still hungry, but he felt too tired to eat, or move. Every inch of his body ached. He didn't have enough energy to do anything, so he sat and watched Curry sleep. Eventually, he closed his eyes. His mind was racing, but it wasn't the events of the last week keeping him awake. Instead, Louise Carson occupied his mind. Her face was the last thing in his mind's eye when he slipped off into a light sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days passed quietly. Heyes spent half that first night in the chair, finally crawling into bed in the small hours. He and Curry slept past noon and gratefully ate the cold chicken Louise provided. Both men bathed, sent their dirty clothes to be laundered, and went back to bed. Neither felt well enough to go out, although each man made halfhearted attempts to get out for the other's benefit. Room service regularly brought meals up, much to Heyes' surprise and concern. Their funds, as always, were limited and couldn't cover such luxuries as fine meals. The next afternoon Heyes, feeling almost normal again, went to the front desk to see what the meals were costing him and was stunned to find the hotel had no record of any charges beyond the cost of the room.

On the third day, clean, shaved, and wearing his last good shirt, Heyes waited on the hotel's front porch for Louise to arrive for work. He saw her walking down the wooden sidewalk, wearing a sensible shirtdress, her long brown hair braided and worn like a crown on her head. He stood up to greet her when she reached the steps.

"Good morning, Miss Carson. You're looking well, especially for such a hot day."

"Good morning, Mr. Smith, and thank you. Yuma is always hot. You get used to it after awhile." Standing fully five feet apart, neither could think of another thing to say. Louise looked at him closely.

"You look like you're feeling better, Mr. Smith."

"If I do, it's because I've been able to clean up and eat well. I believe I have you to thank for that."

She stepped closer to him so she could speak quietly. "I do have some discretion as a manager to take care of preferred guests, Mr. Smith. Even so, let's keep this between us, shall we?"

"I never look a gift horse in the mouth, Miss Carson." She made a face, and Heyes realized what he hadn't exactly been complimentary. "Not that I think of you as a horse, I mean."

"It's alright, Mr. Smith. I know what you mean. I think." They looked at each other again for a long moment, until both turned away, suddenly shy.

"How is your friend doing, Mr. Smith?"

"Feeling better. He got pretty banged up when he fell off his horse. His back's been real sore, but he's finally up and moving around a little bit."

"Fell off his horse?" she asked, amused. "How did he manage to do that?"

"It ain't hard to do when there's eight or ten someones chasing you."

She sobered instantly. "Sorry. I did hear something about that."

He felt the old fear stiffen his body. Always cautious, he looked around briefly for eavesdroppers before he leaned in closer to her to speak quietly.

"What exactly did you hear?"

"They're still following the outlaws' trail, riding hell bent for leather into Mexico."

"Huh," he said, trying and failing to hide his relief with a feeble joke. "Hope they speak good Spanish. The Mexicans don't like American posses crossing the border."

"No," she said. "I've heard that, too." She saw he was still upset. "What will you do?"

He pushed his hat higher on his head and wiped his sweating face with one hand. "Depends on how my friend's feeling. He was hurt worse than he admits. I'd like to stay another day or two, if we can."

"Let me know if I can do anything to help."

"Louise, you've done a lot already. More than I could have asked for. Maybe you'd do one more thing for me?"

"If I can."

"Let me buy you dinner tonight? Someplace nice? If you're free, of course. I know you got a job to do."

She hesitated. "Can you afford that?"

He gave her a bitter little smile. "I wouldn't offer otherwise."

She rested a soft hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"You and me got a history of saying things to each other we shouldn't. Maybe we can start over again?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith. Let's do that. I can meet you here at, oh, 7:00pm? Today's actually my day off. I just came by to do a little paperwork."

"See you then, Miss Carson." She smiled at him one more time and went inside. Heyes felt unreasonably good. Must be the prospect of spending time with a beautiful woman who didn't want anything from him, he thought. Especially a woman who knew who he was and didn't seem anxious to collect the reward. This was going to be fun.


	3. Chapter 3

"You picked a nice place, Louise," Heyes said. "A private table where we can visit without anyone overhearing us, good food, lots of good wine. And, most of all, charming company. This is the nearest thing to heaven I can imagine."

"Your imagination is limited then," she said. "Still, it is a nice place. The owner thinks of himself as a chef, not just a cook. He takes a lot of pride in his business."

"Do you know him well?" he asked.

She nodded. "Because of my job, I know everyone in the food service business in Yuma. He's a good friend."

"Oh?" Heyes' voice rose. "How good a friend?" She stared at him.

"I thought we decided to start anew, Joshua." It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he seemed to be blushing.

"We did, Louise. I'm sorry. Sometimes stupid things come out of my mouth. I can't seem to stop them. You're the last person I want to hurt, especially after all you've done for us."

He looked so earnest, she wanted to hug him. Instead, she changed the subject.

"I thought Mr. Jones might be joining us tonight."

"No, he's still feeling pretty low. He didn't think he'd be good company. He's just staying in the room tonight all alone."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "When I knew him before, in Arizona, he didn't seem like the type of person who liked to sit around a hotel room by himself. He seemed to enjoy being out in company."

"He did, then," Heyes said. "Not so much anymore. He keeps to himself more and more these days."

"Time changes all of us, doesn't it?" she said, thoughtfully.

"Guess so," Heyes said. He wasn't anxious to pursue this particular subject, but it seemed she was.

"Speaking of changes," Louise said, "the last time I saw you, you mentioned that you and your friend were trying to change your lives. How is that going?"

He reached for the wine glass. It was empty. Louise obligingly filled it for him, and he took a long swallow. The wine was going down real easy. "We changed, alright. We changed from eating regular and sleeping in beds and getting medical care to sleeping on the ground, going hungry – " he tipped his glass at Louise – "except when some generous lady takes pity on us, and bandaging each other up, because the local doctor's been warned to look out for a pair of broken-down old outlaws. We made a promise to a friend and to each other, we'd live honest lives, no matter what. We'd earn a living and make money by earning it, instead of stealing someone else's." He paused while a waiter passed by, pushing a noisy dessert cart. When they were alone again, he was quiet. Finally, Louise prompted him.

"And are you finding work"

"Oh sure," he said. "Sure. We take the dirty, dangerous jobs no one else will take, and only sometimes we get paid for them. And when we don't get paid, there's nothing we can do about it, because we sure as hell can't complain to the sheriff. Strangers cheat us, and friends blackmail us. Yeah, we changed. For all the good it did us." This time, Louise did reach across to comfort him. He gripped her small hand tightly.

"Sometimes, I have to wonder, is this what we deserve for everything we did before? I mean, did we earn this life, because of all the bad things we did, stealing the life savings of people like you, Louise? The way things are now, we got no more control over our own lives than a tumbleweed does blowing around Yuma. We're nothing. We're lower than dirt. Sometimes I feel like just giving up, you know?" Louise's eyes were sympathetic, and she was listening closely. Maybe that's why he was talking so much. That, and all the wine he'd had.

"You know what, Louise? Lately I been thinking, maybe we should just go back to doing what we know how to do. We been going straight now for years, and we're still wanted. We were promised we'd get a clean slate, be able to start all over again as honest men, if we stopped robbing. Neither one of us believe that's going to happen now. So why bother? We're probably going to end up dead or in prison anyway. Might as well go out on a high. At least my belly'd be full, and I'd be wearing decent clothes."

"What does your partner say about all this?" she asked.

"Not much. Oh, I know he's still hurting some, but that ain't it. He's quiet. Doesn't talk much. Doesn't want to do anything but sit in the room. That's not like him at all. He's given up. And there don't seem to be anything I can say or do to make him feel better."

"I'm so sorry, Joshua. I wish I could help you." He noticed tears welling up in her eyes, and he kicked himself mentally. Why was he telling her his life story? She was just a casual acquaintance. He hadn't spent more than six hours of his life in her company. Now he was spilling his guts to her. He pulled his hand free and sat up straight.

"I'm sorry, too, Louise. I shouldn't be dumping on you. You've been more generous to me and my partner than we deserve. It's sure a lot more than I expect from anybody these days. Forget about me. What about you? I remember you were coming out here to live with your sister. You were hoping to find somebody nice, maybe get married. How's that working out?"

"It's not, Joshua." He looked so surprised, she laughed out loud. "What, you never met an old maid before?"

"Not one as beautiful as you, Louise. There must be something wrong with the men in Yuma, if they're passing you by."

"Oh, they're not passing me by, Joshua. Just the unmarried ones." His eyes widened again with surprise. "I've had more illicit offers from married men than I can count. I don't accept any of them. Kenneth Blake taught me that lesson, and I'll never forget it." Her mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "I've changed my life, too, you see."

"What about your sister? Aren't you living with her?"

She shook her head. "No. Oh, I did, at first. It didn't work out. Her husband was one of those married men who made an illicit offer." Heyes shook his head in disbelief.

"That's terrible, Louise. What did you do?"

"I moved out. I made up some lie to tell her, but she wasn't fooled. She knew something was wrong. I finally told her what happened, and she got angry. She said some terrible things to me, made all sorts of accusations. We don't see each other anymore."

Now Heyes reached across to hold Louise's hand. "I'm sorry, Louise. You deserve better."

"It's not so bad," she said, lightly. "I have a job, a place to live. I make my own way in the world. But sometimes, Joshua" – she took a deep breath – "I'll tell you the truth. I want to give up, too. I want to run away and have some excitement. The thought of spending the rest of my life in this town, doing what I'm doing . . .. I've done nothing but work, and what do I have to show for it? A room in a boarding house, and a tiny savings account. I want to travel, do exciting things, have some adventure in my life, like you've had."

"Being chased by a posse for almost a week ain't the kind of adventure anyone wants, Louise."

"I guess I could skip that part. Would you go back to – to what you did before with banks and trains?"

"No. The glory days are gone. Besides, some honesty has rubbed off on us. When we robbed banks, we were wrecking lives, lives of people like restaurant managers in hotels. We can't live like that anymore."

"What else is there?" she asked.

"We're talking about working the confidence game. We've got a lot of experience doing that. Rob the rich, and give to the poor – namely, us. Maybe go east to Florida, where we wouldn't be recognized so easily. Seems like every cowboy and sheriff west of the Mississippi knows us on sight."

"I've heard about Florida," she said. "There's a big real estate boom going on. A lot of rich northerners are buying land there, to set up winter homes. The whole social scene is moving there."

"Wherever rich easterners and their money goes, crooks follow," he said. "It's the natural order of things."

She laughed, as he'd intended. God, she was beautiful. And sweet, and kind, and she liked him, even though she knew who he was and what he'd done. He liked her, too. He didn't let himself think about just how much. He looked across at her beautiful brown eyes, and, in an instant, a plan came to him, a Hannibal Heyes plan, whole and complete, and he knew it was perfect. A look of wonder crossed his face. It changed his whole demeanor. Louise noticed.

"Joshua? What is it? What are you thinking?"

"Louise," he began, "I got me an idea."


	4. Chapter 4

The 8:10 to Tucson and points east wasn't even halfway full. Heyes and Curry, wearing new suits and carrying bulging carpetbags, easily found seats facing each other, where each man could watch the doorways and see who came and went. At the opposite end of the car, they watched a large, noisy family enter, filling several seats with children and overhead racks with luggage. That was just fine with Heyes and Curry. Those kids made such a racket, the two men could talk without any danger of being overheard.

"This is either the worst idea you've ever had, Joshua, or it's the best. I'm not sure which."

Heyes glanced at his partner. Curry wore his impassive poker face. "You're still willing to go along with it, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." Something in Curry's voice made Heyes look at him closer. "You're definitely right about one thing. Giving up was the only thing we could do, if we wanted to have any sort of a life."

"Losing everything can be a gift, Thaddeus. There's nothing holding you back from embracing your future."

"Now who's the philosopher?" Curry asked. Heyes smiled. He was feeling good.

"The only thing I feel bad about is Lom," Curry said. "Not telling him anything, just disappearing, after all he tried to do for us."

"Yeah," Heyes agreed. "But we got to do it. He's an honest man, old Lom is. You know he'd go straight to the governor and tell him we were giving up on the amnesty. Next thing, he'd be leading the biggest posse you ever seen and he'd hunt us down. We got to disappear before he knows we're gone."

"I know," Curry said. "But still . . . "

"I know. Still." The thought of leaving their old friend in the dark was his only regret. Heyes wished it could be different, but if they were leaving amnesty behind, they had to leave Lom behind, too. It was the only way.

"There's one thing I don't mind leaving behind with Lom," Curry said.

"What?" Heyes asked, curious. He had no idea what Curry was talking about.

"Smith and Jones."

"Me neither! Lom's a good man, but he's short on imagination. We'll come up with something better."

Curry pointed out the window. "There." Heyes looked in that direction. Louise Carson was boarding the train. Something, some instinct, made her turn towards Heyes. He was clearly visible from where she stood, but she showed no reaction; she just boarded the train calmly and went into the next car. Too many people in Yuma knew her. Being seen together now could be dangerous. Heyes was pleased. She had natural talent. He knew he could teach her how to work a con in no time.

"I wasn't really talking about you and me, Joshua," Curry said.

"I know."

"Is it a good idea to bring her into this? This kind of life, I mean."

"She wants to. It's her decision after all, Thaddeus. She could have said no, and we'd still be doing what we're doing."

"Uh huh."

"If it weren't for the information she gave us, we wouldn't be sitting here in these fine clothes, with money in our pockets."

"I do appreciate that, Joshua. I got no objection to a little safe-cracking, especially when it's from somebody who can spare it. I just hope she's going to be okay with this kind of life. She didn't get brought up in it like we did."

Heyes heard criticism in Curry's voice and got a little defensive. "I thought we already discussed this. She wants this. She's tired of being poor and honest, just like we are. We'll teach her the business, and we'll all make some serious money along the way, like we used to. Only we won't throw it away like we did before."

Curry held up both hands. "Alright, alright. It'll just take some adjusting, working with a new partner. Especially one who's your long-lost sister."

"She can't be yours, not with your coloring. It'll be great, Thaddeus. I got a real good feeling about this."

Heyes was smiling. He looked confident and happy, Curry thought, just like he used to be, before they'd wasted the last few years chasing the dream of amnesty. They were finished with that, finally. It was good to see Heyes excited about the future. Truth be told, Curry was feeling pretty excited, too.

"So Florida's a peninsula, is that right?" Heyes nodded.

"Yeah. That means it's surrounded by water."

"That's great," Curry said. "That means the seafood will be really good."

Heyes laughed. His partner was acting like his old self again.

"Yeah," Heyes said. "A chance to do the kind of work we do best, without anyone like Lom watching over our shoulders. A warm climate, rich idiots, lots of good seafood, and a prettier partner than you. Things are looking up."

Both men grinned happily at each other. It had been a long time since they looked forward to the future.


	5. Chapter 5

The butler coughed discretely, hoping to catch his employer s attention without startling him. The elderly gentlemen sat cross-legged in front of the huge fireplace, holding a book in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other. He did not look up.

"Mr. Saunders, sir." Soapy Saunders closed his book and looked up at the hesitant young man standing in front of him.

"What is it, Albert?"

"Mr. Saunders, there s a gentlemen here to see you. He says it's very important."

"Didn't I tell you I was not to be disturbed tonight, Albert?" Although he was a small man, Mr. Saunders could be very intimidating at times, and this was one of those times.

"Yes, sir, you did, but I believe you will want to see this gentleman."

Saunders closed his book and gave his full attention to Albert. Although he d not been in his service for long, Saunders already had seen the boy display judgment and discretion. If Albert thought this visitor was important enough to disobey clear instructions, there might be a good reason.

"Alright, Albert. Who is it?"

"Lom Trevors, sir. He says he is sheriff in Porterville, Wyoming. He wishes to talk to you about some friends you and he have in common."

"I can't recall any friends of mine who choose to associate with sheriffs. Did he tell you who?"

"Yes sir. Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones. He says it's a matter of life and death."

"You'd best send him in, Albert."

"Right away, sir." Soapy stood and pulled his smoking jacket straight, frowning as he searched his retentive memory for any reference Heyes or the Kid might have made to someone named Trevors. The name was familiar, but he couldn't remember why.

Albert returned, followed by a very tall, broad-shouldered man, carrying a Stetson in his left hand. The heels of his dusty boots clicked loudly on the parquet floors and echoed off the high ceiling.

"Sheriff Trevors, Mr. Saunders."

"Thank you, Albert. That will be all." Albert quietly closed the big doors, leaving the two men facing each other across the tremendous disparity in their height. Trevors extended his arm to shake hands with the small man, but withdrew it when Saunders merely kept his hands clasped in front of him.

"I don't usually accept visitors on Sunday evening, Sheriff Trevors. This is my quiet time to read and reflect."

"That's what your man told me." Trevors voice was firm and confident. "I appreciate your making an exception. Mind if I sit down?"

"Make yourself comfortable, Sheriff." The chair Saunders indicated looked a mite frail to Trevors. It made some unsettling creaks when he squeezed into it. Saunders took a sip of brandy. He did not offer any to his guest.

"I won't beat around the bush, Mr. Saunders. I know who you are. Or, I know who you were, before your retirement."

"Many people in Denver know who I am, Sheriff Trevors. I confess to some surprise that my reputation as a philanthropist and collector of fine art has reached small-town Wyoming."

A smile lifted one corner of Trevors mustache. "And it's all paid for by a lifetime of working the confidence game, ain't it Soapy?"

Saunders eyes narrowed with annoyance. "Is it your habit to greet your hosts by accusing them of criminal activity, Sheriff?"

"Mr. Saunders, I ain't interested in your past except for one thing, and that's the safety of our mutual friends Smith and Jones." Saunders face was impassive.

"I can't imagine how you and I would have mutual friends, Sheriff. Perhaps you'd better stop beating around the bush, as you so quaintly put it, and tell me why you think you and I have anything or anyone in common."

Trevors leaned forward. The delicate Louis XIV chair groaned under his weight.

"I ain't always been a lawman. When I was younger, I spent some time with the Devil s Hole Gang. I got to know Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry well. Real well."

Saunders steepled his fingers and kept his expression neutral. He remembered where he'd heard of Trevors. "You have a colorful past, Sheriff. How is this relevant to me?"

"Like I said, I got to know the gang real well, especially Heyes and Curry. They told me how you took them in when they was boys, taught 'em the confidence game. And I know, if it weren't for them, you'd be spending your retirement in the Nevada penitentiary, instead of this mansion house."

"You should write dime novels, Sheriff. You have a fine talent for fantasy."

"But they decided to go straight," Trevors went on, ignoring the interruption. "They asked me to be their go-between with the governor of Wyoming, and he did grant them a provisional amnesty, provided they stayed straight and out of trouble. They been living as Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones ever since."

"How lovely for them," Saunders said. "I'm still waiting to hear why you re here."

"Because I ain't heard from them in six months, Mr. Saunders. Not one word. Up till then, they were checking in with me regular, letting me know where they were working, or asking about their amnesty. I'm worried about them. I'm worried about what they might be doing. I came to ask you, have you heard from them?"

"I am acquainted with Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones, Sheriff Trevors, but no, I have not heard from them, not for, oh," Saunders looked at the ceiling, stalling for time, "more than a year." He returned his gaze to Trevors, smiling gently. Trevors' disappointment was plain. "As for your story, I can hardly believe any governor would give Heyes and Curry amnesty." Trevors started to speak, but subsided when Saunders held up one hand.

"A governor might promise it, Sheriff, but without any intention of giving it. It would be political suicide. And there has been quite a lengthy parade of Wyoming governors, some of whom may not be party to the original agreement. Perhaps Heyes and Curry realized that the offer of amnesty was never intended to be fulfilled. Maybe they have moved on with their lives."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Trevors said. "That they've gone back to outlawing."

"I haven't heard of them robbing any trains or banks," Saunders objected.

"No sir." Trevors shook his head. "They re too smart to do that again. But I do believe they d find another way to make a dishonest dollar. They told me what you taught them; that a fool and his money were soon parted and deserved to be. I m afraid they re back in the con game business." His tone of voice hardened. "Are they?"

"I'm hardly the one to tell you that," Saunders demurred. "Just out of curiosity, Sheriff, what does it matter to you what they do, as long as they aren t committing any crimes in your jurisdiction?"

"I'll tell you why it matters, and I'll make it nice and clear, so you can tell them next time you see them. Because I put my reputation on the line for them. I told the governors they went straight, same as I did, and they meant to stay straight. Now the governor's asking me why I haven't had any reports on them lately, and I ain't got a good answer for him. And maybe the governor's thinking I knew all along they were still thieving, and maybe I'm involved. That's why. Because I trusted them, and if they lied to me, there's gonna be hell to pay."

"I see your predicament, Sheriff, and I sympathize," Saunders said, "but there's nothing I can do. Notorious bank robbers don't check their schedules with me, despite what you think you know about my background."

"Uh huh." Trevors started intently at the smaller man, trying to see through the pleasant expression. Saunders only smiled benignly. Bigger, meaner men than Trevors had tried to intimidate him since before the war and had failed. Saunders stood up.

"If that is all you have to say, Sheriff Trevors, I will wish you good night and good luck."

"That's it, is it?" Trevors said, standing. He should have known he wouldn't get anything out of this old man. Saunders had been working con games successfully for fifty years. This grand house proved he'd been the best. It would take more than one visit to convince him that abandoning the idea of amnesty was the worst thing Heyes and Curry could do. Hell, he was probably proud that the boys were under his wing again.

Trevors put his hat on. "Thanks for the time, Soapy. When you see Heyes and Curry, be sure to remind them about who I am."

"And exactly who are you, Sheriff? Besides a man with a past?"

"I'm the man who knows them two better than anyone, including you. I've been their best friend, and I could be their worst enemy. If they're breaking the law, I will hunt them down and I will put them in prison for twenty years."

Saunders' genial smile faded as he watched the tall man leave. He waited, still standing, until he heard Albert escort Trevors towards the front door. When he heard the door shut, he followed Trevors out into the foyer, where Albert was locking up.

"Albert."

"Yes sir."

"You were right to admit Sheriff Trevors. That was good judgment on your part."

"Thank you, sir."

"I'm going to compose a few telegraphs for you to send."

"Right away, sir."

"I believe Sheriff Trevors is expecting me to do just that. I would hate to disappoint him, after his long trip from Wyoming. I'll want you to visit a different telegraph office for each telegram."

"Yes sir."

"Go slowly, so that you don't lose Sheriff Trevors. When you've finished, you can go home. And there's an extra $20 gold piece in this for you, Albert, to make up for the late evening."

"Thank you, sir. That's very generous."

"Not at all, Albert, not at all. During the day tomorrow I'll have a more important telegram for you to send. By that time, I expect Sheriff Trevors will have moved on, but you must still be cautious. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir, perfectly."

"Good man. I'll have these ready in ten minutes. Then you can go."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

At his writing desk, Saunders quickly wrote a few misleading telegrams. Even if Trevors bribed or intimidated a telegraph clerk, the messages would be too cryptic for him to understand. That would give Saunders time to think and compose a more lengthy, complete message to Heyes and Curry. They needed to know that they faced a new, dangerous threat.


	6. Chapter 6

"You are one of the prettiest things I've ever seen."

Louise Carson twirled around before Hannibal Heyes' appreciative eyes. She pulled up the voluminous folds of her long skirt to display the shoes she wore.

"Aren't these a perfect match for the dress, Han?" She pointed one foot at him.

"Sure are," he agreed. "You are a vision, Louise. You will definitely be the most beautiful woman at this soiree."

She laughed. She felt wonderful. New clothes, new shoes, and the admiration of a handsome man. What more could a girl want?

"There's one thing missing, though," Heyes said.

"Missing?" She twisted around to look at her reflection in the full-length mirror. What could she have forgotten?

"Only one little thing," Heyes told her, rising from his chair. "Be right back." He left her dressing room and returned seconds later with a velvet- covered box.

"Here's the missing piece." He held the box while she reached over to touch it. She recognized the company name inscribed on the top. Her mouth opened in a wide, soundless "oh" of anticipation.

He snapped the lid open, revealing a necklace thick with rows of sparkling rubies. "You can't be seen at the best party in New Orleans without proper jewels."

"Oh Han. Oh. Oh thank you." She flung her arms around him briefly, almost squeezing the breath out of him. "You shouldn't have. It's too much."

"Nothing's too good for my poor sister, the widow with shares in a silver mine and a scoundrel for a brother," Heyes said. She laughed again as she took the necklace from the box and held it high to examine it. The deep color glittered in the gaslight, sending reflected shafts of red light onto her trembling hands.

"Ain't this better than running a restaurant in Yuma?" he asked.

"So much better. I'm beginning to think that the day I first saw you in Yuma, all dirty and smelly, was one of the best days of my life."

He laughed at that, his deep, baritone rumble that made her shiver "Lots of better days than that still to come, Louise. Stick with me, and you'll see."

"I admit I was nervous at first, Han, about working a confidence game, but now – well, I never thought I'd enjoy it as much as I do. It's more fun than I ever imagined. And the rewards" – she held up the necklace again – "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now."

"You're a natural, Louise. I told Jed you were, and you proved me right. There's nothing better than separating a rich fool from some of his money. Some, not all."

"I know," she said, nodding. "That's what Soapy said. Leave them some dignity and some money."

"And pick your marks wisely," he reminded her.

"Yes, I remember that, too. Should I ask how you got this?"

"Louise! I actually paid for it. Don't you worry none." His innocent look didn't fool her.

"With stolen money?" she asked.

"What other kind would I have?"

"I never thought this is how my life would be, Han," she said, so quietly that he had to strain to hear her. "Not ever." He felt his chest tighten with anxiety.

"Do you regret coming with me, Louise? Us, I mean?"

"No. No, I don't." Sometimes he looked like a lost little boy. She put both hands on his shoulders to reassure him.

"I don't regret it, Han. I don't. It's just – it's funny how things turn out, that's all. When I was a girl, and my family left Brooklyn, we thought we'd get rich as soon as we got to the west. The Golden West, land of opportunity." Her laugh was bitter now. "But it was just like the east. The rich get richer by running down the poor but honest. We were broke and starving, just like we were in never had a chance."

"Now you do, Louise. Now you got more than a chance. Not through the courts or the law, because a poor man's got no hope there. The whole system's set up to take care of the bosses and use the rest of us like we were slaves."

"Alright, Han," she said. "You don't need to unleash your silver tongue to convince me; I'm already convinced. I'm here now, and I'm staying here."

Heyes tried not to let his relief show.

"Yes, you are, Louise. And me and Jed will help you learn the business. We'll do some serious Robin Hooding, except we'll take from the rich and keep the money. That necklace is only part of what's coming to you now that you're working with us."

Smiling, she turned back to the mirror and held the glittering strand around her slender neck.

"Let me help you with that." He stood behind her. "The clasp can be a little tricky." She turned her head and pulled her long hair to one side. His fingers seemed to tickle the back of her neck.

"Can you get it?" she asked.

"I can get it." The clasp clicked shut, and he adjusted the heavy necklace to rest comfortably on her pale skin. His fingers strayed to grasp her shoulders, and he pulled her closer, brushing her neck with his soft kisses, from shoulder to ear. She watched his progress in the mirror, almost holding her breath. He bit her earlobe gently, and she closed her eyes and leaned back against him. Slowly, he turned her around to face him, and she moved her hands lower to hold him around his waist. He bent to kiss her lips, and she didn't resist. When he straightened again, his eyes locked with hers for a brief second before he stepped back.

"Louise, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what came over me."

"Don't you? I do."

He almost stumbled in his hurry towards the door. "That was wrong of me to do. I'm supposed to be your brother. That's not brotherly behavior. I'm so sorry, Louise."

"I'm not."

"I'll go down to the lobby and find Jed. That'll give you and me more time to get back into character. We're brother and sister, remember. Anyway, we'll just wait for you downstairs, alright? And then we can go to dinner and to the party like we planned." He reached behind him for the doorknob and slipped out into the hallway before Louise could respond. She looked at the closed door for a long moment. He was probably right. She wasn't feeling very sisterly at the moment.

000000

The Hotel Montenegro was a mighty fine hotel, Jed Curry thought. Mighty fine. Everything top of the line, and as fancy as the big money men of New Orleans could make it. And the service! He had hardly sat down in the lobby before a young colored woman brought over a cart stocked with cigars and liquers. With a smooth Cuban cigar and an even smoother Spanish sherry, waiting for Heyes and Louise to come down was proving to be a pleasant experience. He realized he was smiling. This was the kind of life for him. No more riding from one dusty town to another, one step ahead of posses. No more cattle drives or ranch work, ever. An elegantly-dressed young woman walking by caught his attention, and he gave her his biggest, brightest smile. She modestly looked away, but not before blushing. Yes, life was good and getting better.

Relaxed as he was, he still kept a close watch on his surroundings. The chances of being recognized in Louisiana were a lot smaller than they were in Wyoming, but as long as there was a $20,000 reward on him and Heyes, they were in danger. Heyes seemed to think people would forget about them, but Curry had too much faith in human greed to believe that. He noticed a bellman standing in the lobby, looking around for someone. When he saw Curry, he walked quickly over.

"Mr. Mulcahy, I'm so glad I found you." Curry tried not to react to the name. Heyes always insisted he take an Irish alias. He didn't really care; anything was better than Smith and Jones. "I've been looking for you, sir. This special delivery letter just arrived for you."

"Thank you." Curry reached in his pocket for a coin. "That's for your trouble."

The bellman looked at the denomination, his surprise overcoming his professional demeanor.

"That's very generous, sir."

Curry waved him off. "You men work awful hard. It's the best way I know to show my thanks." The bellman bowed briefly and walked away. Curry made a point of tipping generously and treating the staff courteously. He never knew when he might need information or a favor.

He looked at the return envelope on the letter. It was from Soapy, postmarked San Francisco. Soapy only used the U.S. mail when he was worried that telegrams would be intercepted. This might be important. He opened the envelope carefully and withdrew the single page. Soapy's handwriting was as precise as his cons.

He read the letter three times before he folded it neatly and put it back in the envelope. He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. Heyes and Louise were due any minute. He took a drink of the sherry, his mind working furiously, his face calm. Nothing he could do now but wait, and worry.

00000000

Heyes came down the grand staircase to the lobby, straightening his cuffs and collar. He'd taken almost as much care with his appearance as Louise had with hers. He had to look the part of a wastrel younger brother, so it made perfect sense for him to wear the finest clothes and jewels. His custom-made Brooks Brothers suit fit his slender frame perfectly. The diamond stickpin in his tie was a modest size, but of the highest quality. A brief smile lit his mobile face as he remembered another time he'd run a con game with "diamonds of the highest quality." He planned for this job to be as successful as the previous one had been, with one big difference – this time, he and Jed and Louise would keep the money. No more handing their haul back to Lom Trevors, or any other lawman.

He found Curry seated against a far wall, almost hidden behind potted plants. He sat down on an overstuffed chair next to him.

"Where've you been? You're late."

"Just helping Louise get ready."

"Sheesh. She'll probably need another half hour then. What were you two doing up there anyway?"

"We weren't doing anything! What is this, twenty questions?"

"What're you getting so hot and bothered for? I just asked you a simple question."

"I'm not getting hot and bothered, unless it's because I have to spend all sorts of time hunting for you in this lobby. How come you're hiding out in this corner behind the bushes?" Heyes asked. "You didn't see anyone, did you?" Both men understand that "anyone" meant, "anyone who could identify Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry."

"No, I didn't. Better to see than be seen anyhow," Curry answered. "Besides, you found me just fine."

"Only because I know you so well."

"Nice and private here, even though we're still in public. We can be seen but not heard at all."

Heyes' eyes narrowed. "Do we need to be not heard at all?"

Curry looked at his friend carefully and whistled a long, slow whistle.

"Nice suit," he remarked. "How much did that cost us?"

"Now don't you worry none about money," Heyes replied. "My sister's taking good care of us."

"Nice sister."

"She is a very nice sister, and more. Did you want to talk about something before she got here?"

Curry leaned forward. "We might have a problem."

Heyes kept the genial smile on his face. "With our plan?"

"No." Curry took Soapy's letter from his jacket and handed it to Heyes. "With Lom." Heyes' smile slipped.

"Lom!" He hissed. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Read this."

Heyes withdrew the letter from the envelope and unfolded it to read. Curry watched him quickly scan the letter and then read it again. Finally, Heyes folded it and replaced it into the envelope, tapping the envelope against the arm of his chair several times.

"Well?" Curry asked. "What should we do?"

The tapping stopped. "Nothing. We do nothing."

"Nothing!" Curry said, his voice rising. Both men looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed.

"Nothing!" Curry repeated, more quietly. "Lom's onto us."

"No, he isn't. He doesn't know where we are. He doesn't know what we're doing. Hell, he doesn't even know our names. All he knows is, we haven't checked in with him like we used to. He's suspicious, that's all."

"He's got a right to be. Soapy says he's threatening to hunt us down, and you think we should do nothing?"

Heyes just shrugged. "Yes. Think about it, Jed. The U.S. of A. is an awful big country. How's one sheriff from a nothing town in Wyoming going to find us? Even if he gets the Governor to send him some help, they'll be looking in the West, and we're in New Orleans. When we finish our business here, we'll be in Cuba. That's a whole different country. No, Lom's not a problem. Forget this" – he held up the letter – "and forget Lom. We've moved on and left Smith and Jones behind. When Lom gets tired of wasting his time on us, he'll move on, too."

"I don't know about that. You know how he is. Once Lom gets his mind fixed on something, he's like a dog with a bone. He never lets go."

"He can chew that bone for as long as he likes, but it won't do him no good. We're two people in an awful big country. He'll get frustrated sooner or later and go back to Porterville. Maybe he'll get off his behind and start courting Miss Porter."

"Miss Porter? Are you kidding me?"

"Well, maybe not Miss Porter," Heyes allowed. "But someone. Point I'm trying to make is, whatever he thinks he can do, it ain't going to be enough. We're gone already, and we'll be even more gone, once we head down to Cuba. He won't ever find us, try as hard as he might. We got nothing to worry about. Trust me."

"Forgive me if I don't trust you on this, partner. I am worried. That's my job, like you always tell me. Lom knows us, better than any lawman. He'll be harder to shake than the whole Apache nation."

"Apache skills won't help in this case. It ain't like we're leaving horse prints in mud or breaking twigs. We're like smoke, Jed. The wind came up, and we disappeared in it. Ain't nobody can track that."

"I don't know, Heyes. Soapy takes what he said real serious."

"As well he should, and us, too. We take it serious, but we don't over-react. We keep doing what we're doing, and we stay east of the Mississippi for a good long while. Maybe we can even take Louise to Europe for a while. Pretty good for a couple nobodies from nowhere in Kansas, ain't it?"

"That's the other part you're ignoring, partner. We ain't nobodies. We're known everywhere, even here. Those stupid dime novels are everywhere."

"I'm not ignoring that part. But remember, people are looking for Heyes and Curry to rob banks. They're not doing that anymore. Haven't done for more than three years. There's other young fools out there like they were, thinking a reputation is a good thing and doing everything they can to get famous. Heyes and Curry will fade away in the public's mind till they're like something out of the past. And that'll be the end of the story. We're free to live like we want to, Jed. Finally."

"Free, are we? Free enough to live under our own names?"

"No. And we won't ever be, so get that dream out of your head. That's all the amnesty ever was, a pipe dream. And we feel for it, like a couple of marks. No more."

"Lom believed in it," Curry said. "He believed in us, too, and now he thinks we lied to him from the get-go." Heyes' troubled expression matched his own.

"That's why I'm worried, Heyes. That's why I think Lom could be a big problem for us. He thinks we back-stabbed him; that we never intended to go straight for real. It's personal for him. We got to do something to get him off our trail."

"You got something in mind?" Heyes asked.

"Uh-uh, partner. That's your job. Me, I'm the security man. I keep an eye open for threats. You do the planning. I think Lom is a threat. And just in case you forgot, it ain't just you and me anymore. If we get caught, Louise will go to prison, too. We might survive prison, but she wouldn't. That'd kill her. We can't let that happen."

"Okay. I'll think on it. But I still don't think this problem's as big as you do."

"Problem? Is there a problem?" Both men rose politely when they heard Louise's voice.

"No problem, Gretchen," Heyes said, slipping into his role.

"I'd say there is a problem, Robert," Curry added. "With Gretchen looking so lovely, you and I will have to defend her from all the men fighting to fill her dance card tonight."

"Why thank you, Mr. Mulcahy," Louise said. "But I'll be sure to save two dances for you, if you like."

Curry bowed formally. "Gretchen, I would be honored. Shall we get a cab? We don't want to be late for our dinner reservation."

Both men took Louise's arms and walked towards the entrance.

Through her bright smile, Louise whispered to them. "What's the matter? You two look like you had a fight."

Curry patted her hand. "No fight. We were just talking about the past. Someone we used to know."

"Is there a problem I need to know about?"

Heyes and Curry exchanged a quick glance over Louise's head.

"No," Heyes said. "Nothing you need to know about."

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	7. Chapter 7

"Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Briscoe."

Harry Briscoe reached over his desk to shake hands with his visitor. Harry always believed in the power of first impressions, and a man's handshake could tell you an awful lot. Lom Trevors had a firm, confident grip. He was one of the tallest men Harry had met, and the Stetson that Trevors wore only added to the impression of strength and power.

"It's my pleasure. Please, sit down. The Bannerman organization always works closely with local law enforcement. Although, you're not precisely local, are you? You're not from Denver?"

"No, sir, I'm not," Trevors said. He put his hat on the desk and settled into a chair. "I'm from Porterville, Wyoming. I doubt if you've heard of it."

Briscoe opened his cigar box and extended it to Trevors.

"Care to indulge?"

Trevors shook his head. "No, thank you kindly, but you go ahead."

"Don't mind if I do." Briscoe lit a cigar and took a deep drag.

"I haven't heard much about Porterville, Sheriff, but I have heard of you." Trevors' eyebrows went up, but he didn't say anything.

"You have a fine reputation as a lawman, a fine reputation. All the more remarkable given your history. I am correct, aren't I, that you have a more than passing acquaintance with the Devil's Hole Gang?"

"That's a polite way to put it, Mr. Briscoe. Yes. I ran with that gang a long time ago. Got to know them pretty well, before I figured out that outlawing was no way to live."

"Exemplary, Sheriff. Your conduct and your example are exemplary. You've shown to the world that a man can reform himself and turn away from a life of crime."

"Thank you. I've done the best I could."

"And you've done very well indeed, becoming a sheriff. Very well." Briscoe blew a few smoke rings towards the ceiling, watching them dissipate into wisps. Trevors shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd never been good at small talk.

"In fact . . . You weren't known by your name so much as where you were from, back in the day. Aren't you the one they called the Virginian?"

Trevors failed to hide his surprise.

"Where did you hear about that? Hardly anybody knows about that nickname."

"Oh, I don't rightly remember where I heard that. We Bannerman men have a lot of contacts within the outlaw community. I never heard how you got that nickname, though."

"It was Big Jim Santana who gave me that name. He thought it was funny that someone from the warm south ended up in freezing Wyoming."

"Well. Thanks for that background information. But I don't imagine the Virginian came all the way to Denver to reminisce with me about life as an outlaw."

"No, sir, I sure didn't. I'm here to ask for your help tracking down some people."

Briscoe put his cigar in an ashtray and swiveled in his chair to face Trevors.

"Then you've come to the right place. I assume you mean criminals, not just a missing persons case?"

"I do."

"As I said earlier, the Bannerman organization is always happy to work with law enforcement professionals such as yourself. Depending on how much assistance you need, there may be fees involved and …"

"I'm here to talk, not because I want to hire anybody. There's no fee yet for consultations between professional lawmen, is there?" Trevors' intense look almost dared Briscoe to disagree, but he only smiled genially.

"I suppose not. If we didn't work together, then evil could triumph. Anyway, talk is cheap, or so the saying goes. Exactly which criminals are you looking for?"

"Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry."

Briscoe laughed. "You and every other lawman west of the Mississippi. Not to mention the Bannerman organization, the Pinkerton Agency, and a whole assortment of bounty hunters who'd like to get their hands on that $20,000 reward. Of course, you've got an advantage over all of them. Since you ran with that gang, you must know Heyes and Curry personally."

"I do."

"You know them well?" Trevors nodded. "Their habits, their haunts, their friends. . . " Briscoe drew deeply on his cigar and looked absently at the wall, thinking hard. "With that kind of personal knowledge . . . Are you looking to sell that information to the Bannerman agency?"

"No."

"Are you looking for a job with the Bannerman Agency?"

"No. I'm happy with the job I got now."

"Then, Sheriff, I'm not sure why you're here."

"Mr. Briscoe, there's something I want to discuss with you, but first, I need to be sure you can keep this between us and just us. I need your word on that before I tell you why I'm here."

Briscoe tapped ashes carefully into the ashtray. "Then you better not tell me."

"Why not? Don't you know how to keep a secret?"

"Of course I can. I'm a Bannerman man. And that's why I can't promise you complete confidentiality. I work for George Bannerman. If your secret conflicts with my job duties or poses a threat to any current investigations, well, I've already taken an oath to my employer. With that in mind, you decide whether or not you want to talk to me." Briscoe pointed his cigar at his guest for emphasis. "No promises, Sheriff. Except that I'm a lawman, too, like you. And, as lawmen, we have the same interests and goals. We both want criminals brought to justice. It's your call."

Trevors was surprised. He'd heard that Briscoe wasn't the sharpest blade in the drawer, but his forthright refusal to compromise his ethics was impressive. Maybe Briscoe was better than his reputation.

"How private is your office?"

"Private enough for ordinary client meetings, but I'm guessing that what you want to tell me is extraordinary. Is that right?" Trevors only stared at him. Briscoe went on.

"People know that you're here. They'll wonder why, and they'll wonder more the longer you're here. Oh, I can make up a story, if anybody asks, but that gets harder if you're here for a while. Probably best if we continue this conversation elsewhere. Where are you staying?"

"The Oxford Hotel."

"There's a place next street over from there called Manny's Delicatessen. It's run by some Jews from back east. I eat there about once a week. If you and I happen to run into each other there tonight, we might casually sit down for a meal."

Trevors looked doubtful.

"Ain't that kind of out in the open? I told you, this has to be confidential."

Briscoe leaned forward, clasping his hands together on his desk. "What do you want to do, have a secret password and meet under a street lamp at midnight? Nothing catches attention more than trying to sneak around. We both arrive at 6:30, greet each other as casual acquaintances, and decide we might as well take a table together. Nobody will pay any attention to a couple men eating and talking. Deal?"

"Yeah, I guess so. At least I'll get a meal out of it."

"At your own expense. I'm not buying." Briscoe smiled at Trevors' disgusted expression.

"Oh come now, Sheriff. You don't get an expense account meal until you've hired me." Trevors only glared.

"We do have a membership at a very nice private club I could use," Briscoe conceded, "but I don't think it would be appropriate for you."

"Because I'm not one of your rich men clients who want to hire you to spy on their cheating wives?"

"That's a cheap shot, Sheriff, and a less than intelligent thing to say when you're asking for a favor." Trevors had the grace to blush slightly.

"Two reasons I don't buy you dinner there. First, because there is an expense account at a fine restaurant, so it'll be full of Bannerman men who know me and wonder who you are. And second, because it's the Union League Club. Not exactly a comfortable place for The Virginian."

Trevors retrieved his big Stetson and pulled it tightly onto his head. He stood up and towered over the smaller man.

"See you at 6:30."

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It was impossible to miss Lom Trevors at Manny's. Harry could see him half a block away, crouching down to read the menu displayed on a chalkboard inside the front window. People on the sidewalk walked around him like water parting around a rock, and he was oblivious to it. Trevors didn't straighten up until Harry was standing next to him.

"See anything that interests you?"

"Not really," Trevors said, frowning at the board. "I never even heard of half this stuff. What is pastrami anyway? And what kind of soup is matzah ball?"

Briscoe pointed to the bottom of the menu. "There's corned beef. You've had beef before, haven't you?"

"Course I have. But why is it corned?"

Harry reached up and put a companionable hand on Trevors' shoulder.

"Lom, do you trust me?"

"No."

"Good. Let me order for you. It'll make both our lives easier."

Trevors almost growled. "Just don't order anything that'll kill me right away. We got business to do first."

The two men sat together at a small table in the back of the crowded restaurant. Trevors looked around the room, his blue eyes shifting back and forth while he searched for trouble. He tilted his chair slightly so that his back was against the wall, and he had a clear view of the crowd of diners and serving staff.

Briscoe took off his ever-present homburg hat and set it down on the canvas tablecloth. He folded his hands on the table and watched Trevors scan the room.

"See anyone suspicious, Lom?"

Trevors didn't turn back to Briscoe. He kept focusing on the room.

"Everyone's suspicious. Especially you. And I didn't say you could call me by my given name."

"If I call you by your title, I could be overheard. You really want the good people of Denver to know what you are?"

Trevors only stared. "Now you're worried about being overhead?"

"We're hiding in plain sight. Some lawman from Wyoming stopped by the agency for a minor matter, and, seeing he was on his own in the big city, I invited him to join me for a meal. Nothing unusual in our being here, unless you start doing something to draw attention. Now why don't you tell me what your business is with me?"

"Alright. It has to do with the two people I mentioned earlier, and a deal they made with someone important."

"Ah," Briscoe said. "I thought it was about the amnesty."

Trevors was stunned. "You know about that?" he hissed in a stage whisper.

"I do. And don't whisper. A whisper can be louder than a shout and draw more attention."

"Alright," Trevors conceded. "Why don't you tell me what you know, and I'll fill in some gaps."

Briscoe sipped his coffee and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin.

"The governor of your fair territory offered a pair of miscreants a provisional amnesty. If they stayed out of trouble and honest for a certain period of time – say, a year - they'd get a full pardon. Slate wiped clean. Right so far?" Trevors nodded cautiously. "Of course, that was a governor or two ago, and it's been three years and more since the original deal was made. Meantime, them two are still wanted. If they get picked up, they suffer the full weight of the penalty for their crimes, and the governor – whoever that is this month – disavows any knowledge of a deal, and they get locked up for 20 years. How's that?"

"Pretty good," Trevors admitted grudgingly. "I guess you heard all that from the horse's mouth, since you worked with them in Colorado Springs and Hadleyburg. Right so far?"

"Right. And knowing that, you came to me instead of any of my colleagues."

"Right again."

"So, Lom, I'm back to my original question. Why have you come to me?"

Trevors leaned forward, almost whispering again. "Because they're missing. I haven't heard from either one of them in over six months now. Because the Governor does ask every so often if they're still behaving, and I don't have an answer for him. Because I think they've given up, and they're going back to their old ways."

"And because you stuck your neck out for them, and now you think your head's going to get chopped off because they're decided to go outlaw and forget the deal. Which, between you and me, probably didn't have a snowball's chance of hell in the first place."

Trevors didn't avert his eyes. "That, too."

"I see." Briscoe leaned back against the wall, letting his legs stretch out. "And you think I might know where they are."

"Yes. Do you?"

Briscoe sighed and shook his head. "No, I don't." Trevors started to sit up straight and opened his mouth to speak, but Briscoe held up one hand. "No, really. I don't. You probably think I know a way to contact them. I don't. They usually contact me when they need something, same as you have. Only they don't usually come to the office."

"No, I guess not."

"I've actually run into them a couple times when I was out on investigations. Completely by accident. And they weren't committing crimes, by the way. They were staying out of trouble, staying honest. They even helped me, you know, so I was more than willling to return the favor."

"I see." Trevors slumped in his chair, discouraged.

"Now that I know why you wanted to see me, I have a question for you."

"Go ahead."

"Why do you think they've returned to their old ways? It could be – and I don't want to think this is true, but it could be – they aren't alive. That's the worst case, of course. Or maybe they got arrested as Smith and Jones and are locked up somewhere. That means they're alive, but can't contact you."

"I've thought of those," Trevors admitted, "and you're right, either one is possible. I don't think so, though."

"Why is that?" Briscoe asked, with real curiousity.

Trevors glanced around the room again. Briscoe noticed, and he scanned the room, too. No one paid them any mind.

"It's the way they acted last couple times I saw them," Lom said. "They didn't look good, didn't sound good."

"How so? Do you mean sick?"

"No, not sick, just low. Tired. I told them I'm still pushing the governor for them, but it was like they didn't even care. Like one day would be the same as the next, and nothing would ever change or get better."

Briscoe grunted. "Can you blame them? They kept up their end of the bargain, and all they got in return was living hand to mouth, still wanted. And how many governors is it now that made the same promise and didn't keep it? Any reasonable man would've given up by now."

"That's what I'm really afraid of," Trevors said. "That they've given up and gone back to outlawing."

Briscoe reached over and clasped Trevors on the arm to console him. The man looked positively upset.

"Cheer up, man. They know the glory days of their train and bank work is over. That time's passed, and they know it."

"But it's as good a time as any for con men," Trevors insisted. "And they are real pros. They were trained by the best." At Briscoe's questioning expression, Trevors said, "Soapy Saunders." Now Briscoe's eyes widened in real surprise.

"Finally, something you didn't know. It's true. He took them in when they were kids, taught them the business. They had some falling out along the way, and they left. But when he was in trouble in Nevada, they helped him out, kept him from going to jail there. They're close."

"I know about Saunders' history, of course, but I admit I didn't know about his connection with our mutual friends. Ah, finally!" A waiter carrying a large tray on his shoulder and a folding table came up to their table and presented their meal.

"Let's enjoy this fine brisket, Lom, and while we eat, I'll think about what you said."

Lom stabbed a fork into the fragrant meat. He took a bite, and an expression of amazement crossed his face.

"Told you so." Briscoe was smug.

"Does all Jewish food taste this good?"

"Not all. One major piece of advice." Briscoe pointed his fork at the menu board hanging on a wall. "Stay away from the gefilte fish."

"Will do."

When the busboy came around to take their empty plates, both men were leaning back in their chairs, contentedly patting their stomachs.

"How about we finish this conversation over a fine single malt, Lom? I'll even buy."

Trevors wiped his face with his napkin. "Lead the way, Harry."

"Ah, good. Use my first name. Anybody who hears us will think we're friends."

"Just as long as we know better."

"Absolutely."

O'Toole's Pub was a small but clean place with a long carved bar along the wall where men in neat suits and ties crowded almost elbow to elbow. Briscoe spotted a unoccupied table for two and pointed it out with the tip of his cigar. Trevors, ducking under the low entryway, nodded his agreement. The bartender called out a greeting as they passed, and Briscoe acknowledged him with a tip of his hat.

"The usual, Tommy," Briscoe said, "for me and my friend."

By the time the two men settled at their small table, Tommy appeared with two glasses of an amber liquid. Trevors took a cautious sip and nodded his approval.

"This ain't bad at all, Harry."

"Only the best for another lawman," Briscoe said. The two relaxed quietly for a moment, enjoying their drinks.

"You a regular here, Harry?"

"I am. It's a good crowd, more interested in their liquor than in what anyone else here is doing. My associates like a more posh place than this, so we can have privacy."

"Privacy in a public place," Trevors mused. "I'll have to remember that."

"Getting back to what we were talking about before, Lom, now that I've heard what you have to say, I'll admit, I'd like to know what our mutual friends are doing. Like I said before, I got no way to find them. They contact me when they want something, which I guess is pretty much how you keep in contact with them."

"Pretty much. I asked them to stay in touch real regular, so I could let them know when the – you know what – comes through, or if the governor needs a favor. They don't stay long in any one place. Sometimes they get recognized, and they've had to skedaddle real fast and outrun a posse."

"Hard way to live," Briscoe mused. "Especially when they were used to just taking money when they needed it."

"That ain't no way to live either," Trevors objected. "They know that."

"Then why do you think they've turned back to crime, if they know that it don't work?"

"They been crooks most of their lives. It's natural for them. It's easy to fall back into old habits, especially if you think that you kept up your end of the deal and the other person didn't. And after I talked to Soapy – I didn't mention that?"

"No, you sure didn't." Briscoe took a big gulp of his whiskey.

"Well, I did. He denied he'd seen them or talked to them. But I didn't believe him. I waited around outside his house after I saw him, and sure enough, his servant snuck out to send some telegrams right away. When I talked to the telegraph clerks after, though, all the telegrams were about things like buying art or making plans to travel. Nothing strange about them, except the timing."

"You mean Saunders expected you to do exactly what you did, so he sent innocent messages to fool you and sent you on a wild goose chase. He most likely contacted our friends, but did it later, when you wouldn't be looking."

"That's right."

"Well." Briscoe tapped his finger on the table while he thought. "He's been at this game longer than you and me put together. And he's the one what trained them?"

"Yeah." Trevors sounded disgusted. "He fooled me. I'm sure of it."

Briscoe drained his glass. "That calls for more whiskey." He held his empty glass above his head until Tommy noticed and nodded. Within minutes, two more glasses were delivered to their table.

"I'll say one thing for you, Harry. You know the best places in Denver."

"I'll drink to that, Lom." Both men took appreciative swallows.

"Lom, I wish I could help you. I truly do. Not just because I believe we lawmen should work together, but because I can read your mind."

"You can, can you."

"Not about everything, you understand, but about this one problem. You know what you're most worried about?"

Trevors put his glass down with a thump. Liquid splattered out of the glass and onto his hand. He looked at the wet mess he made, and tried to sweep the spilt liquid into his empty palm with his other hand. Now there was a puddle in his palm, so he lifted his hand to his mouth and licked it dry. Shame to waste such good whiskey.

"Why don't you tell me, since you're so damn smart."

"I'm not that smart, as you've probably heard."

"Yeah, I have," Trevors interrupted. Briscoe only looked at him. "Sorry, Harry, but it's true. Your reputation ain't the best."

"And yet you came to me anyway."

"No choice. Sorry again, but you're the one who knows Smith and Jones. Truth to tell, you ain't livin' up to that reputation tonight."

"Thanks. I think. My truth to tell, Lom, that's a good reputation for me to have. I've worked for it. Being underestimated gives me a big advantage. It allows me to study people, really get to know them and understand why do they the things they do. That's how come I'm able to tell you what you're worried about. You're worried about our friends getting in trouble and getting hurt, even more than you're worried about what to tell the governor. Now tell me that ain't the truth."

"Well . . . some, yeah. I'd hate for them to throw away all the good work they've done these past years. Yeah, Wyoming's had more governors than Carter's got little liver pills, but all that means is, there's more chances one of them'll make good on the deal. But if the boys going rogue, that puts me and them between a rock and a hard place. And it'll go harder on them. The governor could raise that bounty even higher, and then they won't be one place in this whole country where they'd be safe. I've got to find them before the bounty hunters do. And that's why I come to see you, Harry. I need your help."

"Lom, you got it. I don't want to see them come to harm either. I'll let you know if I hear anything, and you let me know if you hear anything. You got my word on that." The two men solemnly shook hands, almost upsetting their glasses.

"Thing is, I'm going away on an assignment in a couple days. I always check for messages here in Denver, though. You can reach me through my office here."

"That works for me, Harry. And you can always reach me in Porterville. I might be away, too, but my deputy will always know how to find me." This time, Lom held up his empty glass for Tommy's attention. Two more glasses of the whiskey appeared almost as if by magic.

"Where are they sending you?"

"The most corrupt city in the United States, and a real goldmine for clients. New Orleans."

"Let's drink to your success there, Harry."

They raised their glasses and clinked them together. "Thank you, Lom. To New Orleans. And to finding our mutual friends, safe and sound and staying out of trouble."

"Amen to that."


End file.
